


Carry On

by localEnti



Category: Original Work
Genre: Depression, Female Protagonist, Reader-Insert, References to Depression, Regret, Self-Insert, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, but i mean you can do so if you want, not really a reader or self insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-10
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-16 21:00:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29955792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/localEnti/pseuds/localEnti
Summary: Another work that I wrote to vent.Comment if you wish, I'd appreciate it.





	Carry On

Chocolate eyes opened to a lowly lit room, a small blue light dancing across the ceiling. Darkness peeked out above the curtains, signaling the dead of night to them. Utter silence passed - interrupted only by a heavy breath. A small figure sat up, arms extending out and back, a series of pops echoing through the quiet. On the wall their shadow danced, the blanket only serving to make the shadow appear monstrous. 

Blinking away the tiredness, the figure softly planted their feet on the carpet and stood up. They ruggedly crossed the bedroom, flicking on the lightswitch.

A wince, then opened eyes. In eyesight was their bed, pressed against the wall with a window set to the left of their head. To the right, a small nightstand with an unplugged lamp, a cellphone, and a small army of figurines. Next to the nightstand stood a fan, softly humming throughout the room. Behind it was a giant cardboard cutout, plastered to the wall. The character glanced to their right, seeing a desk. Two monitors laid on top, a keyboard and mouse at the foot of one. Additional inspection saw a small box of candy, figurines, and small fidget toys, cluttered into an organized mess. The floor revealed a heap of clothing, mostly used. A shirt and shorts later, the figure sat down, computer whirring to life.

It hadn’t even been an hour. She was getting tired again but knew that sleep would prove ineffective, as this was the type of tired no sleep can cure. The clock read 1:34 AM, and she knew the household would be asleep.

Her first mistake was not eating dinner the night before. Her second was acting on that hunger. A trip to the kitchen later, she glared into the pantry. Oreos, ramen, cereal, soups, chips, the pantry had it all. Yet she found herself eating the same things every day, the same unhealthy choices.

Reaching up, she pulled the box of cookies down, setting them on the edge of the counter. A cup lay there, awaiting the milk that would find its way there. 

“Oh-” she whispered to herself. She forgot the plate. She stood in front of the cabinet.

And the urge came to her. She was tired. She was angry, she was sad. A glance down from the cabinet revealed a set of knives, neatly tucked into the corner. Steak knives, but they were still blades in the end. She willed her hand to keep going for the plate. She tried her best, yet her consciousness and body had two different plans in mind. 

Minutes later, she found herself in the bathroom. The door was locked, the lights on. She knew her parents wouldn’t bother her if it simply appeared she was using the restroom. She sat in the bathtub, plastic curtains hiding her from the sight of the door.

She didn’t want to die, yet she wanted just that. The question simply became why. And so she thought. 

She couldn’t pin exactly when things started, but if she had to take a guess, it was her grandfather’s death. He lived two hours away, so he wasn’t seen often, but he was still a good grandfather. She wasn’t depressed from his death, just pretty sad. The bullying that also surrounded it wasn’t the best, either. She went back to school and was called gay. She was bullied for it, yet insisted that she wasn’t. They never listened. Her first attempt was at the age of 11. 

Flash forward a year. Her cat was given away by her mother, and she thought she knew everything. She thought she found love. A confession on Valentine’s day, surely nothing would go wrong. And it didn’t, in fact! She had her first kiss on April Fool’s Day, ironically. Later that month, before her birthday, she was broken up with. It hurt, and she vividly remembers skipping down the hallway, drawing out the details of her own death. 

Her ex showed up at the party later that week. It hurt, but nothing a fake smile couldn’t go through, right? A month later, her ex and best friend got together. Some more suppression and faked happiness wouldn’t be too bad.

Later that year, she finally found it. True love, but with someone else. It was something that brought her happiness, and she finally felt alive. She got the attention she needed and felt on top of the world. Six months passed by in the blink of an eye. The relationship went with it, and another year, another heartache. Nothing too bad.

People stopped talking to her as much. Nothing too out of the ordinary, she still had her main friends. It would be fine. Nothing bad at all. A new kid joined the ranks. They were better than her, more liked, even. She thought she’d be fine. 

Sophomore year. She was in shambles. Her friends were excluding her more and more, she was hurting more and more, and she hated it. She tried to salvage what she could, she did. Luck was on her side, though. She found a new group online, people who actually liked her for her.

A year passed. The bad friends left, the good ones stayed. She had a wonderful year, she absolutely loved it. She felt free again, her mind felt unshackled by the past. And then she got into a relationship. And, lo and behold, she lost them too.

Now she sits in her tub, crying. She lost her ability to smile a long time ago, she realized. She had loved all of them. They were so close to her, and yet she found herself truly alone. One person remained, one person that she could go to, a person that mattered to her.

A simple text. She just sent a simple text, asking for some time together. She needed a hug, that’s all she wanted. Someone to be there and comfort her before anything happened. Time ticked by slowly. Seconds felt like minutes, minutes hours. How long had it been since the text- five minutes. It was five minutes, and nothing. She knew that her friend was awake, would be there.  
Those five crucial minutes were just enough, her thoughts festered, they grew. She broke down worse and worse, and she was at the end of her line. 

One final text to her friend. She spilled it all. Everything she already spilled, everything she didn’t. She was broken, and this would be it for her. She was crying, it was painful for her. The send button was hit, the phone thrown away.

The knife shook. Her hands were shaking, she was terrified. The point of the knife lay at the edge of her wrist. A little bit of force, and it broke through her skin. That was enough for her, enough to send her over the edge. The knife was ripped downwards, cutting through her forearm. She just cut herself. She was going to bleed to death, and she was finally happy.

Until it set in. The worry, the pain. She realized her mistake and she was a fool, she regretted it all but it couldn’t be taken back now. She spilled her blood and now she would have to pay the price. She was sorry, she was incredibly sorry. She wanted to reach out to her friend, to tell her that she’s sorry, to cry to her. But her body was limp. Black danced at the corner of her vision, and she realized that this isn’t what she wanted.

She didn’t want to go.


End file.
